The Great Gatsby ch3.5
by Jet2
Summary: Taking the focus off Gatsby for a sec, Nick and Jordan discuss us the more innocent side of 1920s romance.


THE GREAT GATSBY 

(Chapter 3.5)   
  


Dinner seemed to have called the whole of downtown to quit work for the day and settle into the quaint restaurant where I and Jordan were dining. The tables beside us filled with small parties of four and five, but beyond them, claiming the view of a restless city, were the couples. I couldn't help notice a particular pair when our waiter passed by our table, nodding an acknowledgment of my call but deciding to service us after them. 

Over Jordan's shoulder I watched our waiter stop to hand out menus to a very young couple. The boy was dressed in a dark blazer that displayed the logo of a private school I did not recognize. The girl was not wearing any clothing to indicate she attended the same school as the him, though she was wearing a very attractive and expensive looking sweater. They made use of the menus and our waiter by excitedly asking him and each other questions, as if this was the first time they had been released from some oppressive administration and were suddenly free to explore their choices. Their eyes were bight and their movements sharp. After a while of ordering and changing their minds, they nodded to each other one last time then burst out into playful laughter as if they had just gotten the punch line to a silly joke they had collectively drawn out. Jordan and many other patrons turned to see the commotion of young laughter. Our waiter stood by as the boy and girl hushed each other, suddenly aware of the attention they were drawing. The boy affirmed their orders with a polite nod, then the waiter headed back toward our table. 

"They ought to be more mature than that in public," I heard Jordan murmur as I asked the waiter for more water. 

"They're kids," I answered neutrally when he left. 

"Exactly my point. It's as if they're playing in a crowd of adults," Jordan took another sip of her drink. "I'll bet he really is playing. That girl can't be older than fifteen, the poor naive little thing. She's hoping to find romance at that age, he's hoping to find entertainment." She added unfairly. 

"Oh now don't say such things." I watched the young couple as I defended them. They were holding each other's hands and leaning towards the center of the table and smiling into each other's eyes. It was a portrait of young love that set writers to romanticize, and readers to criticize. "Look at them," I added, "they adore each other. It's as if some force of Shakespearean cruelty had kept them apart, and they're finally able to meet each other.' 

"Well, that's all the more reason they shouldn't go about making a scene. They draw attention." As the young couple leaned in to kiss each other I switched my attention back onto Jordan. She rested her chin on her wrist over the table when she noticed she had my attention. "Don't tell me you think they're in love," She prompted me in a low, even tone. She was so serious about it that I almost laughed. I smiled instead, then paused to consider the impression I was making. 

"Well," I shrugged casually, refusing to take the conversation anywhere near serious. "It doesn't matter If I do or don't. Who am I to judge love?" The waiter refilled my glass and I thanked him. 

She turned around to see the boy stroke his date's hand and smile contentedly as she blushed. "Not even out of prep school," she noted softly then turned back to her plate. "Youth makes love more attractive, but not stable." 

"Oh, and I suppose age makes it more stable?" I speared a few greens of my plate, acting nonchalant. "I've seen older couples, lovers even, act astoundingly childish. Especially at Gatsby's parties. They seem to be playing more than these kids are." I continued, indicating the young couple with my vegetable-filled fork. "Affections, even at such a young age, are never really thrown into a game like dice. People are careful with their affections because in they end, they want to win the grand prize." 

"Grand prize?" 

"True love," I answered, then quickly drank. 

"Aha!" She startled me so with that burst of loud confidence that I almost jumped out of my seat. "I knew it. You're one of those romantic types aren't you?" She accused. "That's why you're defending them!" 

After I took a moment to settle myself after nearly choking on water and falling over in my chair, I leaned back and opened my mouth to rebuttal. She had leaned back also, now with her arms folded in front of her chest, her grey eyes narrowed and challenging. "Well..." I started, unsure how to answer, "Well.... I just thought you were being unfair towards them. Especially the boy. Why is it that the boy is the one leading on, and the girl is the naive angel, and not the other way around?" 

"Don't switch the subject..!" She answered defensively. "Are you or are you not?" 

"How do you know It isn't the seductive girl baiting the hopeful boy?" I asked, only to avoid more confrontation. 

She turned to see if it was possible, and after catching them doing nothing but chat excitedly, turned back look down at the table guiltily. "Well, everyone throws their affections around." She spoke softly. 

"That's impossible," I said, suddenly in defense of all humanity. Then I considered myself as an example, and my argument dropped quietly. "Well... it's a rare occasion to win the grand prize." I signaled for the check, then watched the young couple again in the background. I felt defeated, and in no position to salvage the root of our argument, the purity of the young couple's love. I glanced over at the two who continued to rely back and forth on a subject, overlapping each other's replies with their own anxious ones. They plunged heedlessly into their conversation, not bothering with choosing words or stances, not bothering with the contrast they presented to the older couples around them who spoke slowly and confidently as roles and platforms. 

Then they both abruptly stopped, the subject exhausted. He raised his glass to his lips and smiled over the rim. She merely toyed with her own glass and blushed deeper. It looked like he had won the playful argument, until she looked directly into his eyes, and they both started laughing again. 

I tried to imagine them at one of Gatsby's parties few years older, when he was in a position of power, and she was an icon of wealth. I couldn't. 


End file.
